


Stepping On the Pieces of My Broken Shell

by verhalen



Series: Learning To Fly [5]
Category: Flameborn (Multiverse), TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Dying whale noises, Elves Reborn As Mortal, F/M, Gay Male Character, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magical Realism, Major Character Injury, Multi, No Smut, Past Lives, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Reincarnation, Soren being Soren, feels overload, implied threesome, jamiroquai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: A two-chapter interlude where following a random encounter with his ex-almost-mother-in-law Sören angsts, Geir and Karen try to be helpful, and a single moment changes Anthony's life forever.
Relationships: Anthony Hewlett-Johnson (OMC)/Sören Sigurðsson (OMC), Fëanor | Curufinwë/Finarfin | Arafinwë, Geir Strøm (OMC)/Sören Sigurðsson (OMC), Karen Swanson (OFC)/Sören Sigurðsson (OMC)
Series: Learning To Fly [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539544
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sören Sigurðsson and Anthony Hewlett-Johnson are my OMCs. For more information, please refer to my [Transformative Works Statement](https://verhalen.dreamwidth.org/263827.html)
> 
> **December 2020 update:** This story has undergone some minor edits for mental health reasons connected to the dissolution of a collaborative effort with another author, where we have mutually severed ties; Karen and Geir are a pastiche of the OCs previously involved. The comments on this fic reflect the earlier version.

**March 2015**  
_London, England_  
  
  
"Hello, what can I buy here for sixty-nine quid?"  
  
Karen spluttered and giggled and turned around. "Sören Sigurðsson, you are incorrigible." She gave him a playful little shove.  
  
"_Takk._" Sören's face lit up at the sight of her, and he returned her shove by putting his arms around her waist, drawing her close and planting a little kiss on her cheek. "You get off soon, right?"  
  
There was of course double entendre in that question. Karen rolled her eyes, giggling some more, giving him a swat, and then she nodded. "I'm off the clock in fifteen minutes if you want to go grab something..." She couldn't resist being incorrigible herself. "Or be grabbed."  
  
"Jæja, that sounds good to me." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, making Karen's stomach flutter - god, she loved it when he did that. Then Sören nodded and took a step back. "I should let you pretend to be professional and business-like till you're off the clock. Go... look around this gift shop."  
  
"You can use my staff discount," Karen whispered, and Sören gave the thumbs up. Not that Sören was exactly hurting for money on a neurosurgeon's salary, or Nicholas with his professor's salary, but she liked to be generous anyway.  
  
Sören strolled around the Royal Opera House gift shop and Karen pretended to look more interested in approaching customers than the way his ass looked in those jeans. When she was off the clock, Sören continued to browse as she signed out, and when she came back to collect him, he was still perusing the stuffed animals. Karen smiled - he was such an adorable big kid like that, not too "manly" for soft toys, and it was one of the things she loved about him.  
  
And then Sören made a tiny "meep" just like Beaker from the Muppets. Karen's eyebrows shot up - Sören had a look of alarm on his face.  
  
Before Karen could ask what it was, Sören hissed, "Oh shit, _it's Elaine_." He was looking at a tall woman with short, pixie-cut steel-grey hair, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a smart black pantsuit, carrying a Louis Vuitton bag. Sören muttered, "Hide me," attempting to get around behind Karen, somewhat hilarious because he was a few inches taller. And then Karen watched as the woman's gaze fixed right on him and she flashed him a smile, raising a hand in greeting.  
  
"_Sören!_ Sören, hi!" Elaine made a beeline.  
  
"Oh shit," Sören said under his breath. "Oh shit. _Ho shit._"  
  
"Who's Elaine?" Karen whispered, but it was already too late. Elaine reached out to give Sören a hug - Sören somewhat hesitantly returned the hug - and Elaine kiss-kissed his cheeks European style. Then Elaine pulled back a little, looking him up and down.  
  
"Sören. You're looking well." Elaine's London accent was pleasant to listen to in her deep, rich voice.  
  
"_Takk_, Elaine. So are you." Sören gave a nervous chuckle. "Fancy meeting you here."  
  
Karen would have wondered if this was one of Sören's past lovers, but their body language didn't suggest that. And then, when Elaine glanced over at her and Karen saw the green eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses and Karen got a better look at the facial features, she got rather a suspicion that this wasn't a past lover at all, but the mother of one in particular.  
  
"I'm shopping for a gift for my mum," Elaine said. "Her birthday is in two weeks and, well." Elaine pursed her lips. "She's not doing well and we think this might be her last birthday."  
  
Sören's face tightened. "Oh. I'm sorry."  
  
Elaine nodded. "Thank you, Sören."  
  
Sören took a deep breath. "How... how is Anthony taking it?"  
  
_Called it._ Karen swallowed hard, putting a hand on Sören's arm without thinking about it.  
  
"Well, you know." Elaine gave a small shrug. "He was fond of his gran, so he's sad, but she's also old and has been on the decline for a few years now, so it's not entirely unexpected. But..." Now Elaine took a deep breath. "This is icing on the cake of what's been a difficult time for him."  
  
Sören's weight shifted from one foot to the other. "Jæja. I, ah." Sören looked down.  
  
"Sören, let me be blunt with you. My son does not cry. He has to be guarded with his emotions in the courtroom, and handling the cases he does, seeing some of the things he sees. He comes to visit more often since... everything... and I have more than once seen him out in the garden crying. Looking at photos of you. And I mean recently, not just immediately after the breakup. He stayed over last weekend in his old room and cried himself to sleep and when I asked him the next day what was wrong, he said he missed you."  
  
Sören's eyes misted and his jaw trembled a little. Karen felt a tightness in her chest, and her hand pressed more firmly on his arm. She hadn't been fond of Anthony Hewlett-Johnson when he was in her diploma group, and finding out that he'd been Sören's cheating ex made her dislike him even more. But the bits and pieces that had come out about their relationship - like the stuffed tiger Anthony had bought him when he'd found out what happened to Sören's blue bunny... the surprise trip to Sweden when Sören had lamented not wanting to go back to Iceland but missing the aurora - had been at direct odds with the perception Karen had. Not to mention that Sören had almost married him - they were weeks away from their wedding when Sören caught him _in flagrante delicto_ \- and there had been the erotic art Karen had seen, that had confirmed Sören's Anthony was the one she knew, before she'd seen photos that further confirmed it. Sören wouldn't have wanted to marry the guy and wouldn't have made beautiful paintings of the two of them in the throes of passion, looking at each other so lovingly, if there had been nothing there, no redeemable qualities. When they'd run into Anthony at the beginning of February, Karen had seen the ache in Sören's eyes, and the ache in Anthony's own. And now, hearing this...  
  
_God, what a mess._  
  
"It's been over a year," Sören rasped.  
  
"I know." Elaine nodded.  
  
"And you know what he did. I assume he told you."  
  
"He did. And I won't make excuses for that, but I think _you know_ he regrets what he did." Elaine reached in her Louis Vuitton bag. "Look, Sören. I don't like to ask for favors, or be seen as begging. But I wish you and Anthony could at least _talk_, to try to find some closure." She produced a business card. "That's in case you no longer have his contact information. Please. I'm worried about him, and at least having a heart to heart with him might do my son some good."  
  
Sören left the gift shop without buying anything, and he was no longer in the mood to get food or a drink anywhere. On the ride back to Karen's flat in Covent Garden, Sören kept staring at the business card with C. ANTHONY HEWLETT-JOHNSON on it, flipping it over and over, a look of utter desolation on his face. Eyes too bright.  
  
Karen gave Sören some space with his thoughts for awhile. It was when they got inside the flat she shared with Geir and she put on tea that she finally broke the silence. "Sören. You OK?"  
  
"No, Karen. I'm not OK." Sören's eyes met hers, filled with sorrow.  
  
Karen went right for the jugular, a holdover from her own barrister training. _Anthony would appreciate this if he could see it._ "You still love him, don't you?"  
  
Sören sighed, closed his eyes, and nodded. The tears that he'd been holding back since the gift shop began to flow, silently.  
  
Karen went to him and wrapped him in a fierce, tight hug. Sören broke down sobbing.  
  
"God, Sören." Karen rocked him, kissed his tears. "I mean, I had a feeling you were still carrying a torch for him last month, but..."  
  
Sören nodded, trying to calm down and not really doing a good job of it, giving in to another round of ugly crying. "I just." Sören ran a hand through his curls. "I still love him, yes. We were _so good_ together. He says he cheated because I was working ridiculous hours and there wasn't much time for us anymore, and he wasn't in love with the guy, it was just sex. But I mean, I don't know if I can ever trust him again."  
  
"If he's as contrite as it seems from what his mother said, do you _really_ think he'd cheat on you a second time?"  
  
Sören shrugged. "Probably not."  
  
"And, you now insist on non-monogamy as the rule up front."  
  
"Are you... are you trying to get me to take him back?" Sören's lips quirked. "You don't even like this guy."  
  
"No, I don't. And I don't like that he cheated on you. But everything you told me about what it was like before that... and everything his mother just said..." _The way he was looking at you, a month ago, like you were the only thing in the world that existed and he could eat you alive. The look on his face in those paintings, especially the one where..._ Heat flooded her cheeks and she quickly shoved that mental image away. Karen began to fix tea, but was still listening to Sören.  
  
"And I mean... let's presume he would never cheat again. That he'd agree to be honest with me at all times, and stick to it. Well, that's only one part of the problem. I like what I have with Nick, and with you and Geir -"  
  
"Sören, none of us own you. If you wanted to add one more to your harem -" She couldn't resist, desperately needing to lighten the tone. "Geir and I would just want you to be happy, if this was what you wanted, and I think, well... Nicholas would be more understanding than you give him credit for." She remembered the talk she and Geir had with Nicholas in February after the run-in with Anthony, and just before Sören and Nicholas finally gave in to their feelings for each other. "You have a big heart, we all know there's plenty of room in it for us." _And you'll kill us with your libido if we're not passing you around._  
  
"It just seems... well, rude... when I've just moved in with Nick to say 'hey um I think I wanna shag my ex-fiance too, is that OK?' And even if _he_ was fine with it? We get back to why the dishonesty happened in the first place. That wasn't created in a vacuum. There was the problem of my schedule and his. But also, even if we worked something out with our respective hours, some of that distance happened with me and him because of the way he is in public versus the way he is in private - you don't like him because you don't know him, because the face he puts on out there isn't very likable to people like us. He has a lot more substance and sensitivity and heart and _fire_ than the world knows and it fucking infuriates me that he pretends otherwise. And, this all ties back to his pride. Instead of trying to tell me 'I need more than what you're giving, please let's find a solution', he had too much goddamn fucking _pride_ to come to me about it. He didn't want to 'beg'. Because apparently talking about your issues like a motherfucking adult is 'begging', when you've internalized fucking classist, macho..." Sören shook his head, his voice trailing off. He caught his breath and went on, "And _I_ have too much pride to set myself up for that again. Maybe he won't cheat again, maybe he won't lie again, but the pride that made him go there might rear its head in other ugly ways. My heart can't take going through that one more time. It hurt too much the first time." Sören let out a shuddery sigh. "It still hurts. God, I miss him so much..."  
  
Karen gestured for Sören to sit down to tea, putting out biscuits with it. She was expecting him to go off in "drunk Viking mode" anytime now, losing his ability to speak English, so the tea might help. "What would it take for you to give him a second chance?"  
  
Sören snorted. "He'd have to humble himself quite a bit. Really... re-evaluate his life, his priorities, his inner and outer realities. And I don't see him doing that." Sören shrugged and sipped his tea.  
  
Geir got in while they were still having tea. He came over to give Sören a hug and a snog before giving Karen a hug. He pulled up a chair and he immediately knew something was wrong.  
  
"Hey, luv. What is it?" Geir tousled Sören's curls and skritched his beard like Sören was a cat.  
  
"He ran into his ex's mother at the shop," Karen said.  
  
"Oh, it's Arsehole Ho-bag-Jerkface again?" Geir said mildly, before biting into a biscuit.  
  
Sören almost spat his tea. He turned red, shaking with laughter. "That's awful. It's hilarious, and it's awful." Sören facepalmed. "God... I feel so guilty, laughing."  
  
"He's still in love with Anthony," Karen informed Geir.  
  
"_Karen._" Sören shot her a look. "I could have told him that."  
  
"I already knew," Geir said, patting Sören on the shoulder. "I figured that out last month." He gave Sören another little kiss.  
  
"This is a bit of a situation," Karen said. "She wants Sören to call him. He's... depressed."  
  
"And what do you want to do?" Geir cocked his head to one side.  
  
"Drink," Sören laughed softly. He quickly sobered. "I don't fucking know. Try to forget and keep moving on... but I've been trying to forget and move on for over a fucking year. I don't think I can, anymore." He reached out to take Karen's hand, and Geir's. "Maybe you guys could help me get out of my head and go to a better place for awhile."  
  
"I think we could do that," Geir said, and Karen nodded.  
  
  
_  
  
  
In the haze of afterglow, Karen saw Sören get up to go to the bathroom, but on the way out of the bedroom she watched him take the business card from his wallet and throw it in the wastebasket.  
  
When Sören came back in he got back between Karen and Geir, limbs tangling together. Sören started to doze off, as he did after sex. After they'd been laying there for awhile, cozy and content, Karen's eyes met Geir's, and Geir looked at the wastebasket - he'd seen what Sören did - and then he looked back at Karen and shook his head, mouthing the word _dumbarse._  
  
Karen gave a sad smile. _He's our dumbarse,_ Karen thought to herself, gently and quietly getting up from the bed. She walked over to the wastebasket and fished out the C. ANTHONY HEWLETT-JOHNSON business card and put it with the business cards in her own purse. _Just in case._ It felt so weird, having _Anthony's_ business card in there of all things, but then... nothing about any of this, any of _them_, was normal.  
  
Karen got back on the bed. Sören made a questioning little murmur and Karen wrapped her arms around him, legs tangling back up with Sören's and Geir's. "I'm right here, love," Karen husked, planting a kiss on Sören's forehead, smoothing his curls.  
  
"Don't go," Sören mumbled, pain in his voice, and it was clear in the state of semi-wakefulness that Sören was calling out as much to Anthony as he was to her.  
  
Karen sighed. Geir sighed too, and Geir snuggled closer to Sören, spooning from behind, arms tightening around him, nose rubbing in Sören's curls.


	2. Chapter 2

Anthony had been avoiding his parents' house all week since spending last weekend sleeping over - staying the weekend because the ache for Sören was getting worse all the time, and the flat they'd shared felt haunted - and his mum had heard him _crying_. Again. He felt pathetic. _I'm thirty-five, for fuck's sake._ His mum had been understanding, compassionate, not shaming him about it like he feared, but he still felt embarrassed.  
  
And then of course the text from his mum had come, and he was obligated to go out there for dinner. It felt strange, spending a Friday night having a meal with his parents instead of at the pub with his friends, but it also meant that there was less chance for the mask to slip and for his friends to see how deeply unhappy he was. Because that wouldn't be _fun_. They weren't the kind of people he could vent to about his life - Anthony didn't have people like that around - and all of the things they'd suggest, go out and do things, go out and get laid, he'd been doing that for over a year and none of it actually _worked_ to get rid of this constant pain inside him.  
  
So here he was. His parents weren't the most terribly exciting people in the world, his father Roger was an accountant and his mother Elaine was an architect. She'd designed their spacious home in Blackheath, full of windows and natural light, complete with a high-walled garden of herbs and greens that his father liked to putter in, a garden where Anthony liked to escape for quiet moments when he could get away with it. A garden that Sören, too, had liked, when he'd taken him around. Sören had wanted to have sex in that garden, and it was bad enough they shagged in his old room, in his boyhood bed, with the deliciously wicked, kinky game they'd played throughout their relationship. _Brother. Our little secret._  
  
Dinner was the usual - his parents talking about their jobs, Anthony talking about this past workweek. Finally, the inevitable discussion of his gran came up, who was about to have her ninety-third birthday and was in increasingly frail health. It hurt to see her like this, knowing she was suffering, and it was _really_ going to hurt to go out for her birthday, probably the last one she'd have.  
  
"I went shopping for her birthday present," Elaine said. "Royal Opera House gift shop."  
  
"Ah." Anthony nodded. "I... ah. I have no idea what to get her."  
  
"I know. I took the liberty of picking out something on your behalf too, since I know you're very busy and it's hard to think about all of this."  
  
"Yeah, thank you for understanding."  
  
"Mhm." Elaine nodded. Then she looked at her husband and said, "Roger, can you excuse us for a moment? I have to talk to Anthony about something in private."  
  
Roger nodded and patted Anthony on the shoulder before he got up, a conspiratorial look passing between Elaine and Roger, as if Elaine had briefed him to whatever this talk was going to be before Anthony arrived.  
  
Anthony waited for it.  
  
"I saw someone at the gift shop today," Elaine said.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Sören."  
  
Anthony tried to not react, keeping his expression as neutral as possible, but his mother knew him too well, and when their eyes met Anthony felt like he was going to lose it. Just a single name could undo him.  
  
Elaine reached across the table and put a hand on Anthony's arm. Anthony still tried to keep calm, but he was losing the battle of keeping the pain off his face, the tears out of his eyes. Elaine got up and came back with a box of tissues.  
  
"I didn't talk to him long," Elaine said, "but we did... talk... for a few minutes. And I told him honestly how you've been."  
  
"Oh Jesus _Christ_, Mum."  
  
"And I gave him your business card and told him to get in touch with you. To at least talk about things."  
  
"_Mother._" Anthony blinked back tears. He was touched and furious at the same time. "Mum, you can't do something like that."  
  
"I did it. And now... hopefully he'll call or e-mail you."  
  
"_He will not._" Anthony closed his eyes, remembering when he'd seen Sören back in early February, right near Anthony's birthday of all things. He'd tried to apologize and make the offer of getting back together then, asking to take him out for Valentine's Day, and Sören had responded by kissing not just a girl who'd been in his diploma group, but a man old enough to be his father, saying he had plans for Valentine's Day already. "It's. Been. Done. Since. October. 2013."  
  
Elaine gave him a look.  
  
"He's. Moved. On. With. His. Life." Anthony shook his head. "It's over. It's ended."  
  
"Nothing is really ever ended, Cornelius Anthony."  
  
Not only did she have to _meddle_ like this, but now she was calling him by _that fucking name._ Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed against his forehead, feeling himself wince. "Well, it is."  
  
"It is not. You still have feelings for him, and Anthony, when I told him how you were, _he almost cried._"  
  
"That doesn't mean anything."  
  
"It means everything." Elaine shook her head and leaned back, looking annoyed. "So yes. I gave him your business card, but you know, you were the one to do him wrong -"  
  
"_No shit._" It was something he'd been kicking himself for every day since that day in October 2013, and even before he was caught. Hurting Sören, who had already been through too much in his life, was the very last thing he wanted to do, and as much as he couldn't stop himself from reaching out the two times their paths had crossed since the breakup, he'd felt like he had some nerve for daring to do so. _Of course he would reject me, after what I did. I don't deserve him._ The sex with the man he'd cheated with hadn't been worth it to scratch an itch - he didn't scratch it the way Sören did. Sören had ruined him for other men, not that he'd been able to admit it when they had the big blowout that ended it all. It wasn't just the sex, but the feelings behind the sex.  
  
"And it should really fall on you to go to him and apologize -"  
  
"_I tried that already._"  
  
"Maybe try again. Try harder." Elaine pursed her lips. "When your father and I had our... issues... while you were a teenager, we reconciled because he was persistent. He wouldn't leave me alone so easily."  
  
"Yes Mum, I believe that's called _stalking_ these days." He had to make the joke at his father's expense, but that was a concern too as a criminal defense lawyer, not wanting to be in trouble for harassment. Above and beyond that, not wanting to make Sören feel unsafe, threatened in any way. If Sören needed space, he had to respect that. He'd already done enough damage.  
  
"Would one more try really be enough to qualify? Can't you just do something like when you were first dating, send flowers to his job -"  
  
"Mum. I know you mean well. But _could you not._" Anthony buried his face in his hands and made a noise.  
  
"I just want you to be happy. And I want _him_ to be happy. He was such a _sweet_, dear young man. The two of you were such a nice couple. Even your father liked him, and you know he's been, well." Elaine made a vague hand gesture. "He wants to be supportive but it's -"  
  
"Yes, I'm aware he's a little uncomfortable with his only child being a gay man. He tries." Anthony made another crack. "I try to be supportive of him being straight, too. I know it's so difficult."  
  
"Now is not the time for being snarky, dear."  
  
"Isn't it? It's how I cope. And right now, _I need to cope._"  
  
"Anthony, your problem is that you've been _coping_ for the last year and a half and not actually _fixing_ it."  
  
"There is no fixing it."  
  
"I beg to differ."  
  
"All right." Anthony got up from the table. "I need to... go... before this turns into an argument. I do enough of that all week."  
  
Elaine walked him out to his charcoal grey Audi and gave him a hug. "Please do consider what I said."  
  
"_Bye, Mum._"  
  
Anthony didn't feel like going home just yet, nor did he want to go to something like a pub and deal with people, especially people he knew. The tears were about to come on. He needed to just drive and clear his head.  
  
He put on his car stereo, defaulting to the Jamiroquai playlist, his favorite. Usually that was upbeat enough to put him in a better mood, chase away the funk with the funk. But there were a few songs that hit painfully close to home with what happened with Sören, and _that one in particular_ came on.  
  
_There you were freaking out,  
Trying to get your head around the fact that me and you and love is dead  
See how I'm trippin out  
'Cause you can't decide what you really want from me  
  
Why does it have to be like this?  
I can never tell  
You make me love you, love you baby  
With a little L  
  
There you were shouting out  
Cranking up your altercations, getting upset in your desperation  
Screaming and hollering  
How could this love become so paper thin?  
  
You're playing so hard to get  
You're making me sweat just to hold your attention  
I can't give you nothing more  
If you ain't givin' nothing to me  
  
Don't you know that  
  
You make me love you, love you baby  
With a little L  
Why does it have to be like this  
I can never tell  
  
Seems like you're stepping on the pieces  
Of my broken shell  
'Cause you make me love you, love you  
With a little L you know  
That's the way you make me love you yeah  
  
Why does it have to be like this?  
I can never tell  
You make me love you, love you baby  
With a little L  
_  
  
Of course, he hit repeat.  
  
And then he saw a car charging, running a light, and before he could react it was too late. The car slammed into his, and Anthony watched his entire life spin out of control, the airbag springing as he was jolted again and again, windshield shattering, glass shards impaling his shoulders and chest, his hands bloody. He heard himself screaming involuntarily until he couldn't scream anymore, his voice giving out, the terror of the crash giving way to numb blackness descending on him.  
  
_Great, I've been killed by some twat in a red-and-yellow McLaren. Thanks, God._  
  
  
_  
  
  
"Mr. Hewlett-Johnson, you're awake."  
  
Anthony made a noise. Even through whatever the hell he was on, his entire body hurt. Like he'd been in... well, a car wreck.  
  
"You're also very lucky to be alive." The Black woman in scrubs and a white coat gave him a concerned look.  
  
"How... bad is it," Anthony croaked out.  
  
"You took some wounds to your torso that needed to be stitched up. And you've got concussion, whiplash, dislocated shoulder, fractured ribs... and spinal contusion."  
  
"Spine." Anthony frowned. Even that hurt. "That's... I'm... not... paralyzed, am I?"  
  
"Not quite. You'll need to be in a chair for awhile, will need physical therapy to walk again, but you _should_ be able to walk again with time and work."  
  
"Fuck." Anthony winced. "Er, sorry."  
  
"It's quite all right, Mr. Hewlett-Johnson. Very understandable. But the good news is, you're alive, and nothing that's wrong with you right now can't be fixed."  
  
_Except my broken heart._ Anthony wasn't so sure it was good that he was alive, either, and he hated that he thought that, even for an instant. "What... what about the other driver? The one that hit me."  
  
The doctor wouldn't answer that question.  
  
The answer to that came in the morning when Anthony read the newspaper with an unappealing breakfast, which he was already struggling to finish and absolutely couldn't once he saw it had made the news. They'd protected his identity - for now - but the poor sod who hit him was some bloke he didn't know named Justin Roberts, an up-and-coming football star. This Justin Roberts had been killed in the crash.  
  
It wasn't Anthony's fault - Justin Roberts had run a red light, _and_ he'd been under the influence, according to the paper. Anthony had very little sympathy for drunk drivers, always disliking it when he had to defend them in court. Even so, someone had died in that accident, and Anthony felt terrible about it, the weight of survivor's guilt piercing him as surely as the glass from his windshield had.  
  
"Mr. Hewlett-Johnson," said the lady doctor who'd seen him yesterday. "How are you this morning?"  
  
Anthony just made a face that said everything.  
  
"Yes, I get it. You have a hard road ahead of you. But you'll pull through."  
  
_I'm not so sure of that._ Anthony closed his eyes and tried not to cry.


End file.
